


(Not so good) Reunion

by ClaraCivry (Kat_Of_Dresden)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Post 1x06, Post-Canon, Prisoners, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, cell - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:14:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22116214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Of_Dresden/pseuds/ClaraCivry
Summary: Geralt finds a hurt Jaskier in a cell.There's regret, there's comfort, there's the two of them.As it always should have been
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 35
Kudos: 866





	1. Chapter 1

Geralt never thought he would see him again, he thought that their shared journey was over. It was often that he would hear one of his songs in a tavern or village "toss a coin to your Witcher..." had a tendency to start being sing the moment he appeared anywhere, and sometimes wondered what might have become of Jaskier, songwriter extraordinaire, companion, chatterbox... Friend.

So yeah, maybe Jaskier hadn't been the most suitable and helpful companion for his adventures. Maybe he spoke too much and meddle too often, getting both Geralt and him in a lot of trouble, like some sort of mythical trickster. Danger to their lives accompanied by nonstop talking. Could get on one's nerves. But the fact was that he had brought some light to some otherwise very dark days, in very dark months, in very dark years.

Geralt was... A man who was supposed to feel no emotion, and yet he felt too many. His days were often filled with regret and sorrow, especially when he thought of Renfri and some other questionable choices he'd made. If he refused company he felt awfully lonesome, if he hired it he felt shame. Days came and days went, and it was often that Geralt felt no force to wake up, or when he did and looked for work he felt an overwhelming hopelessness. 

You slay a monster, get paid, move on. A neverending cycle of people being scared of you or telling you that they didn't want your kind around. Enough to lose your will to live. Enough to plunge yourself into the darkest of abysses.

Jaskier had been a nice breather in that whole horror, he had taken him back into the land of the living, had made him feel connected to the world. And he'd written and sung those songs that changed the attitude of the world, from throwing him rocks to admiring him. The bard had helped his relations with the world a lot, and Geralt had never thanked him.

No, what he had done what push him away, make him feel bad. Insulted his singing, called him all kinds of names, told him he didn't want his company. Which wasn't really true, all he needed have done was speed off with his horse, but he hadn't, because annoying as he might have been, Geralt enjoyed having someone around... A friend.

Jaskier had been a friend and Geralt had basically accused him of every wrong thing in his life and told him that never seeing him again would be a blessing. He felt immense regret about that as well, and there was no song and no conversation to distract him from those feelings.

The fact was that he often missed the bard, and mentally kicked himself for estranging himself from the one friend that he had, who had been by his side despite the harsh words and harsher attitudes. Like it or not, Jaskier had been a good friend (his very best friend in the world, indeed) and Geralt had taken the gift of that friendship and set it on fire and then shat on it. He'd been really fucking ungrateful.

But destiny has a way to bring connected people together, and Geralt found himself stuck in a cell with none other than Jaskier himself, a couple of years later. It wasn't the best reunion, seeing as how they were both prisoners, and it took Geralt a while to recognise his former companion. Because Jaskier was really... He really was in a bad way. Wose than he'd ever seen him.

Geralt had been called to stop a karvalo that was wreaking havok in a small city. Unbeknownst to him, the beast was part of a plan from some knights and mages who were trying to gain the power and usurp the authority in place. And because he was he was a danger to the plan and because he was vastly outnumbered, the fiends managed to sedate him and put him in that jail cell he was now in, underground, where no one could hear his cries.

Where no one heard the cries of his friend, either. Because Jaskier had been very vocal about his misery and displeasure, so much so that he'd been beaten more than once and even infected with the poison of one of the monsters those villains were supposed to be protecting the village from, so he would the strength to scream so much. They didn't usually kill their prisoners too fast, in case they could turn them to their side, or be used as leverage, or made a public example. 

That was the good part - the fact that he wasn't dead. The bad part was that by now the knew that no one would be there to pay should they ask ransom for the bard's safe return, so they were just letting him die from his wounds and from the venom he'd been infected with.

There were was dried blood on Jaskier's face and neck, one of his eyes was swollen shut and there were red lines on his neck that bespoke of terrible ways in which they had tried to shut him up. His arm was in his chest, bent in an odd way too, and his pant leg bloodied. Jaskier was a good punching bag, Geralt knew. Good outlet for one's frustration. He still hurt, and to get into this state.... Geralt felt anger surging in him, and curse his weakened state. (those mages had managed to neutralise his magical abilities and reduce his strength and he was pissed)

He gently maneuvered the bard's head on his lap as he sat, and tried to wake him up, called his name, gently slapped his cheek. He noticed that Jaskier's face was way too hot. Of course his wounds had got infected too, of course.

"Come on, come on" Geralt said, with his rough voice, but low "wake up."

Jaskier moaned a little, let out a couple of coughs and fuzzy eyes focused on the man of top of him. He drew an odd smile

"Geralt... Wow, my imagination is getting more.... detailed, huh? Pity... that you're not real."

"I'm not?" Geralt asked, confused. Last time he checked he was indeed real.

"You just.... Me wanting to be rescued. But real him wouldn't come. He hhhhates me." Jaskier's feverish face said, making Geralt's heart sink even further. 

"He doesn't hate you. He was... frustrated and annoyed with you, but he shouldn't have been so harsh, so hurtful." 

Jaskier smiled, but his broken face made it look oddly eerie. 

"Oh, fever hallucination, you always know what to say."

Geralt sighed. He'd had something precious with this man, something good and he hadn't been able to appreciate it, to keep it. He had hurt his friend and let him be hurt - it was so very wrong. No, Jaskier was hurting and thinking that nobody would come to save him, thinking that he was still hated and that the witcher never wanted to see him again.... That was horrible. Shouldn't have been. 

"I'm real, Jaskier. And I swear that I'll get you out of here. It was wrong of me to abandon you like I did, and I'm sorry. I didn't... Wasn't a good friend. I regret my words very much."

Jaskier was... confused. His regular rescue fantasy would already be stroking his hair, maybe singing a lullaby. Maybe even telling him that he sang well, that he was the best. But not the real Geralt. The real one would be stoic and if he apologized he wouldn't be overtly affectionate... 

"Geralt? Is... really you?" 

"It is. Came to slay a monster, found you instead. Glad I did, you're clearly lost without me. And now... Now is the time to escape. Can you walk?" 

"No."

"Can you tell me anything about this place?" 

"I wasn't awake when they brought me."

"So, we have no knowledge of this place, no weapons and I'm going to have to carry you the whole time. Not good."

What was also not good was the fact that one of their captors had heard them, and was very happy to know that the Witcher was a friend of the bard. Ooh, the things they could force him to do by threatening the bard's life... 

She smiled, a evil glint in his eyes. 

Geralt sighed. 

Jaskier passed out. 

So not good.


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt had been trying to fix some of Jaskier’s worst injuries with his knowledge of healing, but the fact that he didn’t have supplies or magic was not helping. The gashes on his neck were now infected (that was where the dried blood had come, three ugly gashes on the side of his neck) and it was particularly bad because he’d already had a fever from whatever venom they poisoned him with to have him quieter.

Now the bard was unconscious and burning up, and Geralt felt useless and guilty. He knew that his guilt was not going to help Jaskier in any way, he knew it would get in the way, but he’d never been good at ridding himself of such feelings. They only piled up.

“So long thinking I wanted you quiet... And this is actual shit.” Geralt murmured, more to himself than anything. As he tried to clean the blood from Jaskier’s leg, chest and neck. There was no reaction from him from the bard, and Geralt knew that he had to do something, or Jaskier wouldn’t make it. But what to do? He couldn’t stop replaying those hurtful last words he said to his friend, so mean spirited, so... terrible.

“Shouldn’t have hurt you like that.” He growled at the broken figure. “Shouldn’t have.”

Geralt still had Jaskier’s head on his lap, and wished for a blanket, a pillow, something. At least some wet cloth to try and relieve the excessive heat on his friend’s brow. Since he didn’t have anything like that, Geralt put his own had on his friend’s brow, palm up, hoping it would be helpful. That cell was quite drafty, so he was relatively cool.

The hours came and went, and Jaskier only moaned, caught in a fever dream.

When he awoke, he begged Geralt to take him home, almost in tears, still lost in the lands of excessive fever, disoriented, probably hallucinating. Geralt did his best to soothe him, told him that yes, they were going home soon, that he was taking him and he would feel better soon... Geralt was absolutely out of this depth here, but he wanted to be as helpful and comforting as possible. He had hurt Jaskier before, it would only made sense that he helped him too.

He felt frustrated and useless and how little he could actually do, and awfully disheartened when time passed and Jaskier only seemed to be getting worse, but there was not much he could do. But groan. And regret. And try to be there, try to be a friend and make up for lost time.

It kept getting more and more complicated.

When he woke up the next day, Jaskier had gone (how had he not noticed it? Did they drug him again?) and one of his captors was in front of him, grey eyes full of evil intent and glee.

“Witcher. You know how to get monsters away, surely you know how to lure them too?” The man said, too happy.

“Perhaps.”

His kidnapper grinned.

“The thing is, we need a victory, we need to save the village again, but we don’t want our streak of glory to be over. So we would need another creature, sooner rather than later. How fast can you make it happen?”

Geralt grunted in anger.

“I said I knew. What makes you think I would do it for you?”

Geralt was really hating all of those mischievous.

“Oh, Yella? Bring our guest.”

Another woman, Yella presumably, came from the side and into the cell holding the barely coherent Jaskier on top of her, her sword on the bard’s neck.

“You’ll tell us, or we’ll kill your little friend.”

“He’s not my friend.” Geralt had said this more than once, but this time it hurt more than the others.

The man with the grey eyes and Yella were enjoying this too much. That bastard spoke:

“Oh, isn’t he? Then you won’t mind if we cut his throat, will you? I’m aching for some blood, Yella...”

And Yella’s sword was closer to Jaskier’s neck, almost breaking skin... Geralt tried to pretend that he didn’t cared, did his best to be indifferent, but fuck, that was so close, too close...

“All right, stop!” Geralt growled, more than pissed. “He’s got nothing to do with this, leave him out of it.”

“But how can we when he’s the one thing bending you into compliance?” The man said, while Yella happily put her sword under Jaskier’s chin. The sick man made a fine impression of a lot hurt puppy, clearly still unclear on where he was or how much of this was real and how much imagined, and looked at Geralt with a confused gaze. Shit.

“I could tell you. But I could also give you bad information.” Geralt said, knowing that pretending not to care, or trying not to speak was not possible. “If I am grateful I will actually tell you how to do what you want....Faster.”

“And what would make you happy?”

“Release him.” Geralt said, without hesitation, and prompting some laughs from the criminals.

“That’s not going to happen.”

Geralt punched the floor of the cell. He was getting really tired of these people and he hated that they so clearly had the upper hand..

“Then at least let me tend to him. He won’t be much use if he dies and you lose your precious leverage, right? Get us some food, some water, any medicine around. Soap would be nice too. Anything to help that fever.”

“You may get some of that. If we get what we want first.”

Geralt wasn’t happy, but told those people how to lure a villmalia. It wasn’t a creature that liked to kill people, but it was fairly ugly and scared folks real well. Perfect for what these damn criminals meant to do, so they were quite happy with Geralt’s contribution.

Later, he went back into the cell and there was some bread and water, some cloth, some bandages. No medicine, though, not a single herb. Still, it was better than nothing. Geralt carefully and gently cleaned and bandaged Jaskier wounds, put the cold cloth on his forehead, washed the sweat and the remaining dried blood off him.

“m cold, Geralt. ‘M tired.”

How could he be tired when he’d been sleeping for so many days?

“It’s all right, Jaskier. I’m here. I’ll get you out, that I bow.”

The question was, how on Earth was he going to do that? Jaskier could hardly walk and was running out of time (the moments when he was awake and alert were beocming fewer and fewr), these horrible people kept drugging him to keep him weak and there were locks and people with swords on the other side of the walls of the cell... There was only one thing that could be said at that:

“Fuck.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Well, the I’m dying thing didn’t work. Fighting with either of them to get the keys didn’t work. Do you have any bright ideas?”

Jaskier didn’t have any bright ideas because he was being consumed by fever in that floor cell, barely having any moments of lucidity and a wakefulness to allow Geralt to get some water in him. The situation was becoming extremely dire, and the witcher knew that his friend didn’t have long.

He needed a brilliant idea, he needed it now and he needed it let him escape, while carrying a basically unconscious bard, and that somehow got him quickly (very quickly) to a healer.

“Hmmmmmmmm”

The more he tried to do something, the more those people got angry and hurt Jaskier and now he had a stab wound in his gut from Geralt’s escape plan number one, two broken fingers from Geralt’s escape plan number two and a gash that crossed all his forearm from the third plan. Plans were bad, but not escaping was also bad.

“What do I do, Jaskier? Staying here only gets you more hurt and ill, and all the escape plans have made everything worse....”

What option did they have left?

“No...” Jaskier moaned, trapped in some fever nightmare “no... please... no...”

Geralt thought that wasn’t an entirely bad idea to get out of this mess.

No.

Just no.

No plan, no decisions made, no accepting, no nothing.

They would not remain there and there would be no strategies.

The next the man came to milk him for more information Geralt just thought “NO!” head butted him, punched him in the leg, in the arm, fuking bit his neck, and then the man tried to escape and get closer to Jaskier “no!” all his strength was concentrated on that no, no to the abuse, no the hurt, no to this rotten, putrid, tiny cell, no to them and no to continue being used....

And so Geralt kicked, choked the mean with his cuffs, kicked him the groin, kicked his head once he was down, again and again and again, then took his words, all the vials of potions and all the little trinkets that he had used to hurt him and Jaskier. No, they wouldn’t win. And no, he wouldn’t have any problems to get out.

“We are getting out, Jaskier. We are getting out and we are getting you to a healer.”

The rest was easier. There had been some sleeping gas in one of the man’s pockets and Geralt used it to neutralise the guards and remainder of criminals. He was immune, and Jaskier was already asleep, so that was not an issue. None of that was going to be an issue because he had decided that no, no one was going to stop him, no more time he would spend there. No more injuries would his companion take. He went first, leaving Jaskier sleeping just outside the cell, to make sure it was safe. It wasn’t.

It was bloody and it was by no means easy. He was met with brutal opposition, with magic, with weapons. Yella was not affected by the smoke and so he had to fight with her and magical talents, sometimes by pure will. But he managed, he struck some blows on her head and managed. Then went back to the cell and picked Jaskier up in his arms, covered in injuries but extremely relieved that this whole nightmare seemed to be nearing its end.

He still needed someone to look after Jaskier though, and soon. The bard was moving less, moaning less, breathing slower. This was the peak that Jaskier could take, and if he wasn’t helped with medication or healing enchantments.... No. He wouldn’t think like that. Jaskier was going to be fine, and he was going to hear his apologies and they would be friends again. Geralt would make it right.

But again, things didn’t come easy. The only horse that was there got spooked by the witcher (it happened sometimes) and it was raining. A lot. Geralt wanted to scream in frustration because why did the world hate him so? And maybe the world did, but perhaps destiny not so much.

As he was walking back to the village with Jaskier unconscious in his arms a carriage passed right by them, and they stopped when they recognized Geralt (the white wolf! The friend humanity!) and allowed him to get in with Jaskier, even if they were quite dirty. The carriage hurried to the next village, which was quite big, and had in fact two healers, one of whom was famous across the whole region for his spectacular capabilities healing the ill.

But still... The healer didn’t know if she would be able to do anything for Jaskier, to bring him back. She could close wounds and give him potions and salves, but if the illness was too much, if his body had given up and was already in the process of death... She could and did call the mage that lived in the town who was unluckily absent, and just used each and every trick of her knowledge to try and help the scrawny man wake up again, be whole again.

“I’ve given him all I had. Now it’s up to him.”

Geralt sighed as he waited on a chair next to the bed where Jaskier was fighting for his life. He’d been cleaned and bandaged, his injuries stark red against the pale skin... And Geralt could see that under all that grime Jaskier was rail-thin, after being near starved by those maniacs. And meanwhile he... He hadn’t been there for his friend, he had abandoned him. Something told Geralt that Jaskier wouldn’t have abandoned him, if he hadn’t pushed him away.

This was so wrong.

Geralt sighed. How many more times would he have to wait there, by Jaskier’s bed, regretting his last words to his friend? Would he never learn his lesson? And this time Jaskier might not make it...

“I am sorry, Jaskier. I was late and you got hurt because of me, you were hurt badly and I couldn’t... For all of my experience hunting monsters, these two I let them roam and abuse us like that....”

There was no answer, but for a small rise and fall of a chest. There was a piece of cloth on his friend’s forehead and he was covered in bandages.

This was so wrong.

“And you saved our lives, again, even if accidentally, with your talking.”

Geralt sighed again.

“When you get better, I’ll be better too. I will treat you better, no more jokes about how I have to put up with you, or your singing, none of that. You were a friend to me, and I wasn’t one to you. But I will be better, if you just hold on. If you keep living.”

One lone tear feel down his cheek.

“You have to survive, Jaskier. You're my very best friend... in the whole wide world.”

Jaskier was still asleep... And Geralt feared he would never wake up again.


	4. Chapter 4

Geralt stayed there, in that bedside. Barely moved at all.

He could move when Jaskier was okay again, he would move when things were fine. In the mean time he would stay there, hoping for some change, willing the changes to come.

He knew that there was not much that could be done. Knew that Jaskier had been given every potion available, knew that he had apologised in each possible way, knew that technically he had saved Jaskier, so that should at least start making up for his rude words and thoughtless words and actions?

Yes, he’d been a horrible friend and he hadn’t dismissed his friendship and help, had insulted his art, had ridiculed his contribution to how much better his life was... Wow, Geralt had been horrible! Did he really think that some gruff apologies and getting him out from one lousy cell was enough?

“I have so many amends to make, Jaskier. I should have done things so differently.” Geralt said, sighing into his hands, rubbing his eyes, hoping for some movement. The fever had subsided after the first couple of days, but there were no signs of him stirring yet.

The fact that this was the second that Jaskier was in a bed unconscious while he remained whole didn’t help matters. That time Jaskier had been okay, yes, but it was when they met Yennefer and it was in a way because of Yennefer that Geralt reached that peaked of rudeness also called “if life could give me one blessing”.

Should he lie next to the bard to offer so human warmth? Or would it be better if he was given space, his injuries air to breathe? He wanted to make things perfect this time, for all the other occasions when he’d been subpar, for all the bad words and the disrespect.

So he put another blanket on top of the bard and just waited, there by that bedside, with a sullen expression.

The wait felt eternal, and even though his outer wounds were healing, Jaskier was not waking up. He stayed there, in that apparently dreamless slumber, giving more weight to Geralt’s dread that his friend was never going to wake up again, but remain there in bed, until he was taken by consumption or fevers, or some illness connected to the beatings... And who would sing them? Who would the tireless companion he had so missed?

No one, because it had to be Jaskier.

And Geralt had hurt him... But could also heal him, no matter how difficult and hard it was for him, no matter how far from his comfort zone it was. He’d been given a chance to be reunited with one of his best (if not only) friends, and he was going to make the most of it.

The moment Jaskier woke up he was going to get the most soothing baths with every herb possible, the most lush meals and wines and ales, and Geralt would ask him to sing and praise his singing, no matter how much the words got stuck in his throat. Yes, the moment he woke up Geralt was going to be a new Geralt with Jaskier, nicer, more caring, who apologized when he was a big piece of shit. Their reunion may have been quite bad, but still, there was a chance there.

A chance for Geralt to redeem himself, to make things better to fix a friendship that was one of a kind.

When Jaskier woke up, yeah.

When he woke up.

When he...

The long days melted into even longer nights and Geralt was getting more and more anxious. He’d memorised every detail of that room, every tree outside the window. The blue on the sky, so similar to Jaskier’s eyes. When he woke up... Why hasn’t he waking up yet? Hadn’t it been long enough? Hadn’t they both suffered and waited enough?

“I’ve learned my lesson, Jaskier. I will never again be so careless. So rude. So damaging to someone was that good to me. Give me a chance to make it up to you. Don’t be like this - you deserve better and so do I. Come on.”

And then, as a last resort...

“I want to hear you sing.”

Geralt put his face on his hands, feeling helplessness wash over him, he’d been too late, his reunion had only been good to see his friend wither away lose all life and never wake up...

“One of my classics” a familiar voice said suddenly “or something new? Because I have much new material from being kidnapped and nearly dying, I can tell you that.”

Geralt looked up immediately. Could it be....

“Jaskier! You’re awake!”

A gentle tired smile graced his old friend’s face.

“Nice to see you too.”

Their reunion may not have been so good, but now Geralt could make good on all those promises, fix the emotional injuries now that the physical ones were healed... Be a better friend, a better listener, a better Geralt.

He smiled.

“Hell, I have the time. If you’re up to it, why not an entire concert?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you liked!
> 
> You know you want to comment


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